Anatomy of a Lie
by Final Wings
Summary: At the age of eleven, Harry Potter finally had enough. Frayed nerves and tentative holds snap, resulting in the disappearance of the BoyWhoLived from the world. At sixteen, he's back, and attending Hogwarts for reasons nobody knows. Bold!Harry HPDM AUish
1. Recalcitrant Renegade

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe does not belong to me. If it did, I probably wouldn't be sitting here writing _fan_fictions. Wait, scratch that. My twisted sense of humor probably would.

**Summary:** AUish. At the age of eleven, Harry Potter finally had enough. Frayed nerves and tentative holds snap, resulting in the seemingly utter disappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived from the muggle and wizarding worlds. At sixteen, he's back, and attending Hogwarts for reasons nobody knows. Bold!Harry HPDM

**Warnings:** This is slash. Don't like it, I don't care.

**Author's Note:** This thing was a _beast_ to get typed out. It just kept going on and on, until I finally managed to cut it off at about 17 pages. Not bad for a first time, eh? I just hope things don't sound too muddled, and if they do, hopefully you'll be able to understand more as the story goes on. So, yes, first fanfic, and nervous doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling. So, I know you people have probably heard this like a bazillion times, but I do like reviews. Just not crappy flamer ones. Just the non-crappy. Makes them easier to cook smores with. Yeah, so R&R please!

**Edit: **Some small changes, but changes nonetheless. Re-reading is optional, though advised.

**2****nd**** Edit:** _That's it_! I'm posting this up and not touching it anymore! I'll just have to live with it the way it already is! I can't _believe_ how many times I've sat down and stared at this chapter, thinking 'What the hell is this? I'm supposed to pass this crap off as a readable chapter?'! But no more! I've decided that this will be the final product for this chapter, and I don't _care_ if I don't like it. I've become far too anal-retentive over such a small thing, and it really isn't helping me progress and get more chapters done. I'm supposed to enjoy this, yet I've turned it into this horrible project. But this is me kicking myself in the ass and telling myself to get over it. So hopefully I won't have anymore problems with putting out more work from now on. Ahh, I hope you guys appreciate this chapter, since it screwed me over so many times. At least I'm mildly satisfied with it now.

_HPDM_

**Chapter One: Recalcitrant Renegade**

Emerald eyes blinked as a trail of sweat blurred a salty path down his nose. Sluggishly, he raised a dirty hand to remove the drop, nudging thick glasses out of the way. It was a useless process, though. Another spot took its place almost as soon as he rubbed away the first. Harry Potter gave a frustrated sigh and pushed himself back onto his haunches for a moment's rest.

Bloody weather would just _not _give him a break.

The sun was a relentless tyrant as he gazed up at the turquoise colored sky, vainly trying to find at least one stray cloud on a canvas of unbroken blue. Attempts to brush the dirt from his hands onto a worn pair of baggy jeans turned up just as fruitless as his hunt for a merciful cloud. His palms were so caked in soil from working in the garden that only a good scrubbing would get them clean. Flicking beryl-green eyes down at his handiwork, though, Harry gave a mute nod of appreciation.

A better part of his morning had been spent working on planting the flowers spread out before him. Most of it had just been wasted time – the result of his earlier decision to be anal about arranging the flowering buds into neat rows to compliment their colors and varieties. Not because he really cared about the garden looking nice. Common sense said digging in dirt was minutely better than scrubbing grease and mold from week old pans and sweeping crumbs out from underneath the oven. And call him a pussy, but he never really had appreciated the smell that accompanied molding food. So it was hardly a choice in Harry's books.

But while he hadn't _really_ been too concerned over the visual appeal of the bed of flowers, absentmindedness was evidently the key to success. The garden looked like it had been cultivated by a paid professional. Although Harry hardly considered himself a certified botanist. 'Florist' wasn't exactly his dream job, and if he had his way, flowers wouldn't play a big part in his future life.

Lifting his eyes to search through the skies again, Harry squinted at the horizon, barely making out the faint silhouette of dark clouds looming in the distance. While he _had_ thought planting flowers in the garden before tackling the kitchen was a good idea, the small boy hadn't expected the cool, early morning weather to turn brutal so fast. Common sense forgot to mention he'd also be working out in the sun for the entire morning.

Head hanging, Harry gave a pitiful sigh. A break definitely wouldn't be in the forecast for today. And even if a miracle happened and those looming clouds were suddenly overhead, it would just end up being a pointless miracle. The last flower was planted, albeit sloppily, so he was just getting ready to go inside and get to work on the rest of the house. There was still a large list of pointless and demeaning chores to be done and he planned to accomplish most of them before his family got home. Sarcasm fully included.

Gathering the gardening tools together with nimble hands, Harry stood, a slight wince of discomfort accompanying the motion. His legs were stiff from crouching over the small pad of dirt for so long. Flexing the numb muscles, he moved towards the shed in a familiar routine to put the dirtied utensils away.

His _family_. Ha. Ha-ha.

Only by blood, at the very least. A fact that the Dursleys took every opportunity to remind Harry of how much they _hated_ it. And he didn't exactly hide his mutual dislike for them, either. Which – considering his uncle was a seasoned drinker with anger management problems to boot – _probably_ wasn't one of his more health conscious decisions. Of course, he didn't go out of his way to position himself in the line of fire when his uncle was around, but sometimes he'd get cornered and it would happen anyway. Although if Vernon got it in his head that Harry needing a beating while he was drunk, no amount of avoiding would prevent the inevitable from occurring.

Harry twitched and rolled his shoulders a bit.

He still had thin scabs of red criss-crossing his back from the last time the bastard had thrown all decorum and reasoning out the window after a tire blew on his car. Seemed to think Harry had been very _air_ that'd made it explode. He never was able to wear that shirt again, either. Shame, too, because it was one of his few nicer shirts.

Carefully closing the shed hatch, Harry turned and entered the house through the backdoor, toeing off his shoes and leaving them outside. Petunia would throw a fit if they were anywhere on her clean floors. She seemed to have some personal vendetta against the dilapidated sneakers, yet still hadn't been driven to the point of purchasing him a new pair. Harry had purposely tried to spite her once and left the shoes inside after walking through a particularly nasty mud puddle. The look on her face had been priceless –akin to the appearance of someone who'd just swallowed a whole lemon while in the process of having an epileptic seizure.

Though, while her reaction had been absolutely gratifying, he really hadn't appreciated trying to fetch his shoes from over the fence in the neighbor's yard. Where a large, slobbering mastiff harboring a certain dislike for him had been waiting for the day the brunet got close enough to bite.

Needless to say, he barely made it out alive.

Eyeing the kitchen with distaste, Harry turned instead and made his way upstairs, sparing a glance at the clock on the wall. His shirt was clinging to his back in the most uncomfortable of manners and he _wasn't_ going to clean the kitchen without having a shower first. Entering the bathroom, he stripped down and hopped into the stall, not bothering to wait for the water to properly warm up. The cool spray was a much appreciated relief after spending hours outside working in the blistering heat.

Fortunately, Petunia and Dudley had decided to go shopping earlier that day. His Aunt had mumbled something about needing new clothes, while Dudley had whined full-heartedly as she attempted to pull a clean shirt onto his body. Harry had struggled to muffle snickers as he wandered away from the unfolding scene, shuffling into the kitchen under the pretense of seeing some chore or another that needed to be done.

Quite honestly, he was relieved more so than usual that they had decided to take the impromptu trip. Harry had marched to the nearest mirror soon after they left to thoroughly examine his face for any foreign objects. Dudley had taken to staring at him lately with some of the oddest expressions on his face Harry had ever seen; so absorbed at moments that he would even pause with food only halfway to his mouth, something completely unheard of regarding his cousin's eating habits. Although it didn't explain the non-violent fixation towards him, the ebony haired boy was relieved to find no massive pimple staring back at him from the middle of his forehead.

Scrubbing the dirt and grime from his tanned body, Harry made short work of his hair before stepping out of the shower, snatching up his glasses and a towel to wrap around his waist before he stalked downstairs to his cupboard. A clean, faded black T-shirt, some underwear, and a pair of baggy blue jeans with a gaping tear in one knee provided suitable clothing and he shrugged them on. Shortly after deeming his face pimple-free, Harry had decided to drop the subject entirely. Though Dudley's strange behavior made him decidedly nervous, it wasn't a habit of his to look a gift horse in the mouth. The reprieve was welcome while it lasted.

Damp white towel tossed onto his meager bed, Harry lethargically ambled towards the kitchen. Scanning the kitchen with narrowed eyes, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Honestly, these people didn't even knowing the _meaning_ of the word 'clean'. His Aunt seemed to be the only one willing to make an effort, yet that usually employed getting _him_ to do it. There were crumbs scattered in all those little crevices crumbs were not supposed to be and Harry didn't _dare_ peek into that cup huddled in the corner lest his eyeballs burn out. One monstrosity on the counter had him stiffening.

Oh god.

Last weeks casserole dish was winking at him.

Harry lingered in the entryway, tapping his fingers agitatedly against his thigh, before raising the hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and utter a long, suffering sigh of defeat. Shaking his head, he reluctantly went for the cleaning supplies stored under the sink.

Dusk crept up silently while the raven haired boy was busy scrubbing everything from the floors to the counters. Once he got over the initial aversion of having to stick his hands in greasy dishwater and get close enough to smell the sour rot of molding food, the routine of cleaning came smoothly. In all actuality, it was almost peaceful going through the motions of scrubbing and organizing. Dudley and Petunia were taking their sweet time in getting back and his Uncle wasn't due for a few more hours. He had the house to himself; it was a rare luxury, which made him all the more grateful for the peace.

Although one annoyingly stubborn stain on the counter was doing a fine job of ruining his good mood. Harry furiously scrubbed at the blotch, which was steadfastly _refusing_ to relinquish its hold on the tiled surface. It was the only thing standing between him and a clean kitchen. A stiff growl left his lips as he added another squirt of cleaner onto the mess, followed by a short bout of hard wipes.

It was still there.

Drowning the infuriating spot in the shitty, brand-name cleaner and using both hands to scrub with the dirty cloth, he vigorously wiped at the fixed stain, whole body rocking with the force of his movements. So when the incensed boy bashed his forehead against the cupboard door above the counter, the resounding flurry of curses and angered gestures was – not surprisingly – enough to scare away a cat wandering across the lawn.

The neighbor's lawn.

Carefully releasing the death grip he had on the wet cloth squelching piteously in his hand, Harry scrunched his eyes shut and took a few, calming breaths. What a shitty day it was. There were unfair forces conspiring together to foil his attempts at a good mood, he knew it. It was clearly foul play and he was about ready to take his complaints to the Bureau of Celestial Negotiations. Try and get a few Fates fired, or something. A soft clink had the irritated boy turning his head towards the front door, a taut frown settling over his tired features. That sounded like the mail slot.

'_Seems a bit late for receiving mail,'_ Harry thought peevishly, rubbing the tender red mark on his forehead still a little sore from the collision.

Hooded green eyes surveyed the counter in disdain, before he tossed the cloth into the sink with a little more force than necessary. It gave a satisfying splat upon impact, and Harry stalked away, slightly mollified by the vent of frustration. Pushing his glasses up his nose, the raven haired boy sauntered down the hall to stop in front of a small pile of letters resting on the worn carpet beneath the mail slot. He paused to eye the seemingly harmless mount of paper, before pursing his lips and casually scooping up the missives to shuffle through them.

Muttering distractedly to himself, Harry let his feet carry him towards the living room, softly listing off probable subjects for each letter as he moved. "Bill, bill, letter from Aunt Marge – _that fat cow_ – bill, letter for me, pointless advertisements… H-hey…_what_?"

Harry's shins smacked painfully into the edge of the coffee table that he'd unknowingly been in a straight-on collision course with, causing him to drop the envelopes as he yelped in pain, hands instantly falling to rub his wounded legs. The venomous glare he gave the piece of furniture would have had it bursting into flames if he were any sort of higher being, but since spontaneous combustion was out of his reach, the small boy settled on aiming a sound kick at the innocent looking table instead. Gathering together the scattered papers, Harry fumbled for the envelope he'd seen his name on. "A letter for… me?"

Tossing the other packages carelessly onto the tacky oak table, he delicately ran his fingers over the yellowed parchment. Now _this_ was an interesting development. The emerald-eyed boy had _never_ received a letter before in his life, and this thing had the audacity to pop out of nowhere without any return address.

The _nerve_.

But aside from non-existent return addresses, no one had ever written to Harry. Ever. Things like that just didn't happen. He was inclined to believe it was addressed wrongly, but there was no mistake in the directions written on the front;

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whining_

_Surrey_

'_They know where I _sleep?' He thought incredulously.

Stalker. Harry was the victim of a stalker.

Oh god, he was going to die.

Flipping the large envelope over, he ran his thumb nervously over the small coat of arms pressed into the purple wax seal; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake decoratively surrounded a large letter 'H'. It didn't exactly look like something that would come from the stalker type. Unless he was being shadowed by some rich, pedophilic old guy.

A shudder ran down Harry's spine. He _prayed_ to whatever deities were listening that he wasn't being stalked.

The thing looked like it belonged in some official person's house and not in his pruned hands. From what Harry knew, letters were generally of the white and lick-closed variety. There _must_ have been some mistake in the delivery. The small boy gently ran his thumb over the wax again. Contemplating the law that said one wasn't supposed to look through other people's mail, Harry decided it was for the sake of making sure the letter was returned to its proper owner. And because whoever had written it didn't include a proper return address on the outside, he would just have to look on the inside. Laws be damned. They couldn't imprison him for good intentions. Cautiously sticking his thumb underneath the flap, Harry broke the seal and removed a sheaf of parchment from inside.

_HOGWARTS_ _SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_ _Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts_ _School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Well. That explained it.

He was the victim of a prank, and not a stalker. He was not going to die.

'_Thank _god.'

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, previous bad mood completely forgotten as Harry ran an amused eye over the letter again. It really was a fine piece of work. The paper alone must have been very expensive.

He pulled out another piece of parchment and rolled jade eyes as he scanned its contents, a soft sound of incredulity escaping from his lips.

"A wand? My god, this is brilliant,"

This was definitely one of the more colorful jokes Harry had seen in his lifetime. Someone had clearly gone through a lot of work to make it appear realistic. He was _almost_ inclined to believe what the papers said. That is, if he wasn't so sure that magic didn't exist.

Tossing his untidy ebony hair revealed a tiny glimpse of a lightning bolt scar in the middle of his forehead, before the black locks fell back into place. That was one thing his family had made sure to press onto him. _Magic didn't exist_. If someone so much as breathed the word in their house, the Dursleys went mad and began a ranting tirade of why magic didn't exist. Harry had mentioned it once, but he was skipped the lecture and locked into his cupboard for a week without substantial food. Never said it again.

But a school for wizards? Wouldn't that be something that would just tickle the Dursleys pink? Harry knew that if he was a wizard, they'd be hopping around and eating flies before he could even say the word 'frog'. The tentative grin slowly bloomed on his face when he imagined what _fun_ life would be in a world with magic. The possibilities were _endless_. Completely ridiculous, but endless.

This was definitely his pick-me-up of the day. It was almost better than that one time he'd set that constrictor on his cousin at the zoo. Harry had no idea how, but the bloody thing had started _talking_ to him and asked to be let free. Dudley had elbowed him out of the way before he could reply, screeching in delight at the snake was now swaying in front of the glass. Glaring at his fat cousin, the thought of releasing the large boa and setting him on Dudley hadn't been such a bad idea, when the next thing he knew, the glass was gone, the snake was free, and Dudley was squealing in terror as the constrictor slithered out of its tank right in front of him. It even thanked Harry before crawling towards the exit, hissing at people who happened to be in the way of the door. He must have been the only one smiling in the reptile house that day.

Fiddling with the parchment, Harry _really_ thought about that little event. When it first happened, he hadn't much time to think about it between the swift drive home accompanied by hunger pangs and sore wounds after his Uncle was through with him, but it really _was_ kind of odd. For glass to disappear just like that, one was likely to believe it was magic.

Harry glanced down at the papers again. In fact, he recalled a few moments in his life where odd things had happened with no reasonable explanations to them. This Hogwarts thing was almost starting to sound _plausible_. It very well seemed completely unreasonable, yet it sounded like the only _reasonable_ explanation he had to clarify the events. Magic. But even if it did exist, why was he only finding out about it now?

Harry shook his head and snorted at himself in disgust. He was reading _way_ too much into a simple prank letter. Jaded part of society or not, he was still being completely ridiculous. There were other explanations for whatever strangeness that happened around him, like hallucinations and whatnot, but he was becoming a little too interested in a subject that only five year olds believed in.

The sudden slamming of a car door had Harry jumping out of his reverie, parchment crackling as he gripped too hard on the edge held in his hand.

'_Dursleys_…'

Shit. The letter. They'd probably skin him alive and use his hide to make a Harry-throw rug for the living room if they ever caught him with it in his possession, nevermind the fact that it wasn't _his_ fault in the first place that he'd received the damn thing. Magic was more than taboo in their household. He needed to hide it. The jingling of a key had Harry sprinting towards his cupboard, mind whizzing through possible worst-case scenarios. He quickly threw open the door, green eyes frantically searching for a place to conceal the forbidden item from view.

'_The pillow case_.'

He hastily shoved the paper in place, before hopping out of the room and snapping the door closed. Letting out a wispy sigh of air, Harry quickly straightened into what he hoped was a casual pose just as the door opened. Relieved satisfaction coursed through his body – letter safely hidden away and house cleaned to perfection. Nothing could go wrong. Until the clouded face of his Uncle rounded the door and focused almost instinctually on him. Harry cursed vehemently in his mind, even as he felt the blood drain from his face.

'_Damn it_._ Damn it all to hell._'

Vernon was drunk. And apparently, _very_ pissed.

"_Youu_!" He slurred, face darkening a deep red when he laid eyes on the stiff form of his nephew.

Red was such an unattractive color on him, Harry thought distantly, hackles raising as the appearance of his Uncle managed to completely ruin his day in the worst way possible.

He stumbled in and Harry watched warily as keys were dropped onto the floor and a jacket was flung furiously into a random corner. No sudden movements. That was rule Number 1 when dealing with maddened animals. Maybe if he played dead the beast would forget about him. Although it was strange that Vernon had made it home before his Aunt. Usually he'd be at work until at least seven o'clock. It was only six.

His Uncle began making clumsy steps towards him, puffing like an enraged bull. So much for no sudden movements. "I dun know _how_ you did it," He bellowed, "but youu got me FIRED you little FREAK!"

'_Oh. That's why_.'

Before Harry could move, a flying hand came out of nowhere, brutally colliding with the side of his jaw. The force of the blow flung him unceremoniously to the ground, cracking his head painfully on the hardwood flooring and producing a thin line of blood from the corner of his mouth. Harry winced, raising a hand to tenderly caress what would likely become a bruised jaw, and tried to push himself up onto his knees. He managed to get as far as lifting his body off the floor and wiping the blood from his chin, before a booted foot slammed into his ribs, curdling any more attempts to raise himself back up onto equal footing with his Uncle. The air left his lungs in a sudden _whoosh_, and Harry worked his mouth like a landed fish while curling in on himself, trying to breathe.

Another kick was drunkenly smashed into his ribs, and then another. Emerald eyes clenched close as hands fisted, and Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out. That was one satisfaction he would never give his Uncle. A final harsh kick landed on his already abused ribs, giving an ominous crack under the strain.

'_Fuck_,' Harry wheezed as white spots put on a brilliant light show across his vision.

Rough hands fumbled for the collar of his shirt, dragging him up and slamming his back against the cream-colored floral wallpaper. Wincing, the stench of alcohol met Harry's senses and his Uncle's blurry face appeared in his sight.

'_Glasses are gone. Please, don't step on them,_' he pleaded in his mind.

"I dun kno _why_ we ever took you in!" A large fist snapped Harry's head to the side, and he made sure to spit a large spatter of blood onto the tacky wallpaper. He had never liked the cheesy floral pattern on it. "You… you must've found sum way to tell my bosss abou' my deal wif the other cumpany!"

Ah. So that's what he got fired for. Was about time someone found out. Vernon never really was good at hiding things. Always had representatives coming over to his house from whatever rival drill company Grunnings was always competing with. Stupid ox had even brought one of them into his work, claiming he was a friend interested in what his Uncle did for a living.

Another fist collided with his face and this time a picture hanging on the wall nearby went crashing to the floor, sending glass everywhere. The photo inside was one of when Dudley had been younger, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had taken him to the beach that day for his birthday. Harry was probably six at the time, when he thought about it. Hadn't been a bad day for him, either. He thought he remembered spending the day watching T.V. and snacking on some of the chips Dudley had left lying around. The Dursleys wouldn't have believed Dudley when he said he hadn't eaten them all anyway. The little beach ball had been on a see-food diet. He saw food, and he ate it. No, it hadn't been a bad day at all.

Vernon tossed his nephew to the ground and Harry's hands went out to prevent himself from landing on his stomach. Although his save resulted in a large gash across his left palm from the glass, he managed to catch his weight. One of his ribs was probably already broken, and he didn't need another one. Breathing evenly in the small respite gained as his Uncle's attention was focused on something else, the sudden eruption of fire across his back had whatever breath fleeing his body in an anguished gasp.

The clasp of the belt tore through his thin, black T-shirt, exposing the angry red lines left behind in its wake. Harry's nerves screamed in agony and blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, jaws clenching as his arms trembled from the strain. Another lash, and this time his mouth opened and beryl eyes scrunched closed in a silent scream. No sound. He wouldn't scream.

Vernon raised his arm again; the metal end flashing down upon his nephew's back, tearing another strip of his shirt open. "You filthy wretch! We _feed_ you! We _clothe_ you! AND NOW I'M FIRED! You should've died with yer parentss when they wer murdered! But we were landed wif YOU!" He bellowed, completely consumed in his alcohol fueled rage.

Cloudy green eyes opened in shock. Murdered? The Dursleys had always told him his parents had died in a car crash. A drop of blood from his mouth splattered down among the hundreds of small shards of shattered glass. _Murdered_?

The belt flared across his back again, dancing to the furious rhythm of his Uncle's anger.

"Tha _stupid_ Dumble-somefin', telling us what ta do! We were _gracious_ enough to take you in! WE can do wif you WHATEVER we WANT!" Vernon's purple face shouted, punctuating words with lashes of the leather. The shirt was in near shreds now, and blood was beginning to color the tattered clothing a darker black.

Dumble-something? That sounded almost familiar. Everything was starting to numb.

Blood flicked from the end of the makeshift whip, spraying across the wallpaper in small, crimson flecks.

"We should nevr have tak'n you in the _first_ place! You an' yer ruddy magic! Tearin' up the place since day one!"

Tears splashed onto the glass below him, mingling with the ruby drops smeared across the floor. His arms stopped trembling. Everything was so cold.

Vernon was puffing now, his arm starting to tire from constantly whipping back and forth. The bloody kid just wouldn't scream. He brought the belt down a few more times, interest waning as his anger mellowed under the rise of his need for another drink. He tossed aside the belt, and laid a last, savage kick across the ribs of the limp body curled in front of him. It was the entire freak's fault he got bloody fired. Huffing, he stumbled out of the glass filled hallway towards the direction of the kitchen. He needed another brandy.

Face still bowed towards the ground and one arm wrapped across his mangled ribs, Harry stared unseeingly at the mixture of tears, blood and glass, displayed in a morbid arc of gore across his vision. He hurt. He could live with the bodily injuries, but this throbbing ache coming from his chest was worse than any flesh wound. The absolute self-loathing and indescribable _pain_ was enough to make him wish he could tear his own heart out just so he wouldn't have to feel it anymore.

He hurt because he was weak. He was so weak and Harry _hated_ himself for it. Every fucking moment of his life spent submitting his will to someone else tore him apart. They were smothering him, and he couldn't even attempt to do anything to stop it because he was too damn feeble. He couldn't fucking _breathe_ anymore. Tears blurred the battered boy's vision as a fiery shame burned its way through his blood, fueling the ache as it spread from his chest.

Harry blinked, clenching his fists as he drew in a few shuddering breaths. No. Now was not the time for a breakdown. He desperately pulled himself together, every muscle in his body tensing as he fought for his control, the iron will he clung to that kept him going through each day. The urge to scream and cry and yell rose higher, but he clamped down and dragged the urge back into the depths of his mind, burying it and turning his focus away from the primal _need_ of the thoughts that were screaming at him.

He battled away the ache in his chest, trying to forget, trying to remember, and told himself he could deal with it later, he could scream and cry and yell all he wanted to later, but now was _not_ the time, he had to get, get up and forget, and not concern himself over such a frivolous thing as a breakdown, such a thing as his sanity hanging mere inches from the edge of despair.

He trembled as his mind fought back, asking why he couldn't take this time, take the moment to scream and cry and yell. Why couldn't he relent and take when everyone else had already taken everything from him, why couldn't he take back? Harry pushed back and silenced the echoes with a snap, telling himself that he was stupid for lingering this long. He had to get up and take care of himself; he was still bleeding and that wasn't going to go away anytime soon. If he stayed any longer, it was possible his uncle could come back, and he was being stupid for lingering over such a thing as a breakdown.

With one great shove, he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and into the Pandora's box they had exploded from, silencing the need and restoring the order in his mind. Emotions firmly reined in place, Harry gently rose from the floor, arm still braced across his ribs. The dull throb echoing from every bruised part of his body was more apparent now. Things would be painful in the ongoing days.

Retrieving his, thankfully, unharmed glasses from the ground, the raven-haired boy carefully placed them on his face. Ice seemed to have taken root in his bones as a latent chill seeped through his body, eliciting a shiver that traveled from the very base of his spine to all of his extremities. A numbing effect was sometimes a repercussion when he knowingly turned his mind away from his emotions. It made him cold understanding that he had to stoop to such levels just to deal with his life.

A trickle of blood dripped off his left hand, and he blankly looked around him. Blood and glass was everywhere, with Vernon's stained belt discarded against the wall.

'_At least it's hardwood flooring._'

Limping towards his cupboard, Harry removed his arm from around his ribs and opened the small door. Mechanically, he grabbed a clean outfit, then trudged his way out and up the stairs. His Uncle would go to the kitchen, have a glass of brandy, and then pass out on the couch. He was safe to have a shower for now. This process was one he knew almost as good as the back of his hand. If he recalled, there was a little white scar on one of his knuckles.

Flicking the shower on, Harry placidly tore the rest of the shirt off his back, not wanting to lift his arms up and aggravate his ribs any more than necessary. The rest of his clothes were removed in the same gentle manner, and with glasses placed on the sink counter, he delicately stepped into the shower. Water turned pink as the blood was washed off his body in tiny, distorted rivulets. Just standing under the spray was painful, but it was necessary to rinse all the blood off. He'd dress his wounds after. The emerald eyed boy rubbed at his arms, trying to bring some heat to his numbed skin. Even the warmth of the water wasn't enough to drive away the cold that nipped at his flesh, raising goose-bumps along the back of his forearms.

Harry exited the shower carefully, before crouching down and searching through the cupboards for a black towel. If he used a white one, Petunia would have a seizure if she couldn't get the stains out. Finally finding one, he snatched the small first aid kit also and closed the cupboard as he stood. Setting them on the counter, Harry finally allowed himself to measure the damage done this time. Placing his glasses on, he looked into the mirror.

And promptly flinched.

A _glorious_ purple bruise was already appearing on the right side of his face, giving Harry the look of someone who had just lost a fight with a girl's make up kit.

'_Oh lovely. I should wear purple more often_.'

His bottom lip was also swelling, and there was a small red cut in the corner of his mouth. It was definitely going to hurt eating later on. But what demanded his attention the most was the sickly purple and yellow bruise mottling the left side of his chest, swirling in an angry show of abused tissue.

Harry winced. '_No_,' he decided. '_Purple definitely isn't my color_.'

Tenderly, he poked at the battered flesh and felt along his ribs, gnawing on his lip at the painful sensations the action caused.

'_Thank god. Not broken. Probably just a small fracture_.'

One last thing needed to be examined, so Harry twisted his back painfully to get a glimpse. On top of numerous old whipping scars, about ten new ones stared angrily back at him, weeping blood.

'_Crap_.'

Picking up the towel and gently dabbing at his back, Harry reached for the kit and grabbed a roll of gauze. He set the towel down and began to carefully wrap the gauze around his chest, making sure to do it tightly enough to support his ribs but not so much that it hurt extensively or he couldn't move. He used up most of the roll before cutting it and pinning the end in place.

Experimentally shifting, Harry deemed his patch job worthy. '_There. That's better_.'

The last bit of gauze was wrapped around the hand with the cut from the glass on it, and after one last examination in the mirror, Harry dressed in his clothes and made his way back downstairs. He kept his eyes on the ground and avoided the mess in the hallway, ignoring the feeling of shame that nipped through his thoughts, teasingly remaining just out of reach of full-on self-loathing. A loud snore from the living room prompted him towards his cupboard, and Harry entered and closed the door with a small snap. However pathetic it was, he felt a bit of peace with the thin wooden door between him and the outside world. His cupboard was his sanctuary and one of the only places on earth he had ever felt safe.

Sitting down gingerly on his bed, the raven haired boy stared blankly at the dusty wall in front of him, duly acknowledging the unhindered creak of the front door opening once more. A small gasp was sounded, followed by quiet mutterings and soft footsteps trailing up the stairs. He didn't blink when he heard noises of what was obviously someone cleaning up the mess in the hallway. He didn't wince when his Aunt begin screeching at his Uncle about ruining the walls. He didn't move when the smells of cooking filled the house, and footsteps came back down the stairs, pausing at his door before rushing to the kitchen. It was nearly eleven thirty before Harry made any movement at all, long after his family had all gone to sleep, and when he did, it was to lean over and let a few tears escape from his eyes.

'_Murdered_?' A few more tears trailed down his face. Why… why hadn't they ever told him? They couldn't hate him that much…

He gave a shallow laugh. '_Of course they could. They _have_ ever since I came to this bloody prison_.'

Salty rivulets burned there way downs his cheeks, blurring his vision and agitating the sensitive flesh on the side of his face.

Harry wished he had known his parents. He _ached _for that wish. At this point, any sort ofparental figure would have been met with exclamations of joy. He just… wished that he had at least known his parents were murdered. It might not have made a shining difference in his life, but he would have at least _known_. Harry knew nothing about them. He had no pictures, no memories… nothing. But he had at least wanted to know how his parents had died. And even that was a lie. To learn that they were murdered was at least something. _Why hadn't he ever known_? One person had taken everything he had away, condemned him to this life, and he had never _known_.

An anguished sob left his lips. Why did today have to be fucked up in so many ways? Why couldn't things wait for tomorrow?

Hands fisted into his untidy, black hair. This absolute mockery of a life was all someone else's fault. If his parents were alive, he would never have had to live like this. None of it would have happened, and maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to exist with some amount of normalcy in his life. Celebrated birthdays and Christmas' like a normal family would. But he would never get to experience that kind of love, because his parents were dead. Dead, because they were murdered.

Fire ripped through Harry's blood, rising in temperature as his tentative control slipped once more at the onslaught of buried memories and suppressed thoughts that raced through his mind. He wanted to place his nails on the wall in front of him and tear through the wood with every ounce of his fury. He wanted to smash every piece of expensive china Petunia had, and break every bone in his Uncle's body. _It wasn't fair_.

He wanted revenge.

Revenge on so many different levels, served on the same cold platter that his life had been dealt to him on. Fuck morals. Screw any speech that, 'Your parents wouldn't have wanted it this way'. Things were going to go _his_ way. Revenge would be taken for every possible moment that Harry had wondered why he was alone, why he was hated _so _much. And he would get it. He'd strive for it. Live for it. He'd get out of this place, and when he found out who had killed his parents, people were going to _die_.

He twisted and a silent snarl crept onto his face as he fought with himself. The _urge_, the _need_, to scream and cry and yell was consuming his senses. Gods, he couldn't _handle_ this. His control was slipping again; he couldn't handle a second onslaught in just one day. But he also couldn't let his emotions blind him so thoroughly. He reasoned with himself, trying to rein back his anger. If he was going to get revenge, he needed to be able to _think_. He needed to be able to plan how he was going to do it, needed control so he'd do it properly, without screwing up. He was being stupid again, why was he being so _stupid_? The rage relented momentarily, and Harry used that opening to snap back on the reigns and pull in his anger.

A sudden beeping had Harry's flushed face turning towards a battered alarm clock, resting peacefully on the shelf above his bed. '12:00 a.m.' flashed at him in glowing, green letters, and Harry's vision blurred once more as he celebrated another birthday, completely alone.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he whispered to himself in a familiar midnight ritual. And made himself a promise, alone and filled with pain. He promised himself his revenge. Because if he had that, he could live without anything else, didn't _need_ anyone else. What were people, what were things, if he had his revenge?

Soft footsteps had him blinking and wiping at his face quietly. The action stung his bruised cheek, but he didn't care. No one was usually up at this time. The unknown intruder trailed down the stairs and stopped in front of Harry's cupboard, before the door began to open slowly. Harry watched with red eyes as the person hesitantly pushed open the door and blinked at the unmistakable countenance of his cousin stepping into the light from his room. Dudley gave a similar reaction, obviously not expecting his cousin to be awake, either.

His day was just full of shitty surprises.

Pinning Dudley with a suspicious look, Harry asked warily, "What do you want Dudley?"

Overcoming his shock, Dudley straightened and attempted to scrutinize him with a superior gaze. "Something from you," He sneered, as if it was so obvious and Harry was just too stupid to understand things.

Harry stared at his fat cousin blankly, mutual thoughts of stupidity drifting through his head. "If you haven't noticed, Dudley, I have absolutely nothing you would want."

And it was true. There was barely anything in his small cupboard, except for his bed, a very small dresser, and a few battered knick-knacks here and there that Harry had collected. There was definitely _nothing_ in there that Dudley would ever want. Unless he was interested in dirty socks, but Harry highly doubted it.

"No, you idiot, I mean from _you_. Piers has been going on about how some girl gave him a blowjob, and how great it was, so _I_ want one, and _you're_ going to give me one," Dudley huffed, trying to give Harry a menacing glare.

Harry's right eye twitched. "Get. Out."

Not to be denied anything, Dudley had the audacity to step closer and growl at Harry, "You are _going_ to give me one, because I want one," Harry's right hand twitched, "And you're going to give me one right _now_, or I'm going to say that you were using the M word."

That was the last straw.

Harry stood in a single, fluid motion, drawing his arm back and launching a furious punch at the pudgy face of his cousin. Dudley didn't even have the time to be shocked.

Plummeting backwards onto his arse, Dudley stared dazedly up into the wrathful viridian eyes of his incensed cousin, unable to precisely comprehend what had just happened. A Harry that fought back didn't exactly occur everyday. When shock gave way to pain, the events finally caught up with his floundering mind and Dudley slowly raised a trembling hand to cover his smarting face. Punch confirmed, he let loose a foghorn like wail, and began to sob and moan in an echoing barrage of pathetic agony.

Thunderous footsteps sounded down the stairs, but Harry was too pleased with himself to care. '_I've been waiting _years_ to do that_.'

Petunia and Vernon halted at the bottom of the steps, both clad in hastily adorned house robes, paralyzed into silence at the scene displayed in front of them. What they saw was not exactly what they had expected to find. Someone maybe trying to break into their house, but not this. Dudley was crying like a wounded animal on the floor, nursing his injured jaw, while their nephew was standing over him, unsuccessfully trying to prevent a satisfied smirk from blooming across his face and ruining the innocent air he was going for.

"He punched me!" Dudley wailed, moving his hand to show the irritated red mark that was already darkening into what would become a lovely bruise.

Harry had to turn his face away at that. Despite the impending doom that his Uncle's darkening visage was foreshadowing, he just could _not_ bring himself to feel any sort of remorse for the remarkable swing he had launched at his cousin's face.

'_And it _was_ remarkable_,' he congratulated himself. In fact, he rather felt like adding a kick towards the blubbering lump of flesh sprawled on the ground in front of him.

That made both adults jump into action. Petunia heaved her son to his feet and began frantically fussing over him, ushering Dudley towards the stairs as he cried pitifully. Vernon's face reached an all new shade of red as Harry watched, not even trying to look sorry for his actions. The fucking idiot deserved it.

"You…you… FREAK!" He backhanded Harry across his face, the blow launching the thin boy backwards and onto his bed. "You'll not be _seen_ out of this cupboard for WEEKS!" Vernon roared. He slammed the cupboard door shut, locking it in place before storming up the stairs.

When he heard the closing and slamming of doors from upstairs, Harry finally let loose a long course of muffled snickers. If he had known that hitting his cousin could be so immensely satisfying, he would have done it a long time ago.

Dudley was such a total moron. The brat probably didn't even know what a blowjob was.

But as hysterical as the stupidity of his cousin could be, white hot anger was still pulsing through his body. He couldn't stand it anymore. Not for another second. Staying in this house was no longer an option. Rage merged into an inflexible steel determination, thoughts of murder drifting through his mind. Harry had a vendetta to fulfill, and the Dursleys no longer had any part to play in it. Which brought him to another major turning point the day had led him to.

Retrieving his letter from the flattened pillow resting at the head of his bed, Harry scanned the parchment with calculating eyes, mind working out the beginnings of a plan.

There. Right under the Hogwarts heading, was '_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_'. Vernon had clearly expressed the beginnings of that name in his drunken rage. And if he recalled, the accusations of Harry doing magic was also mentioned. There was a sort of irony in the fact that this unbelievable subject seemed to be the only reliable information Harry had ever received in his life.

_It made sense_.

It made sense with how his Aunt and Uncle treated him. They were the most normal-obsessing people he'd ever known. And the accidents. It did explain all the accidents. This had to be true. And he was banking on this new revelation being reliable. Harry was going out on a massive limb with this plan. He was going to leave the Dursleys for good.

If this school was real and magic really did exist, the emerald eyed boy needed to find someone who also knew about the place. And he was not going to find out about it in this household.

'_My turn to play._'

He carefully tucked the parchment back into the envelope, then grabbed his school bag and began to pack. Harry made sure that he had at least two pairs of clothes, and fished around for anything else he would need. His thin blanket went on top, and the letter was shoved into one of the bag's front pockets. Now, his only obstacle was the door lock. It was a fairly simple mechanism that you'd usually find on the locks in a school bathroom, and he'd become adept at picking it years ago. The Dursleys usually forgot to feed him whenever he was locked in and he would have starved long since if he hadn't learned the useful skill.

Retrieving a thin strip of metal that had been acquired from a paperclip found in his room years ago, Harry carefully pushed it between the wall and door, and slid the lock back. Easing the wooden panel open and placing the wire in his pocket, he quietly looked down the hall both ways. The Dursleys were sound asleep, and the lights were off.

'_Perfect._'

Leaning his bag against the wall, Harry's eyes flashed in the darkness as he wrote down a mental inventory list. '_The first aid kit will be coming with me, as will some food that'll keep. A weapon would also be nice. And I'm going to need money._'

Check list in place, Harry turned towards the kitchen to retrieve the easier items. The insanity was back and dancing across his mind, but he didn't care. Revenge was all he needed, revenge was all that mattered. He had a purpose now. The steely determination ironed his thoughts, and everything seemed so simple. He would do this and he could be happy.

Prowling towards the cupboards, he began to sift through the boxes, searching for the package of candy bars that Dudley always whined for. A little bit of vindictive revenge would not go amiss. Finding the box and removing the last three, he absentmindedly replaced the empty cardboard package and moved towards the fruit bowl. Cradling an apple and an orange in the crook of his arm, Harry made one last stop at the utensil drawer along the counter. A small knife that could be easily hidden on his body was swiftly taken and he was once again headed towards his bag left in the hallway.

Food safely packed away, Harry knelt down and lifted his right trouser leg to hike up his sock. It was the only place he could think of where he'd be able to safely hide the knife. Carefully, he slipped the blade point-first into his sock, meticulously adjusting the band to keep the weapon pinned to his ankle and discourage any excessive movement. The last thing he needed was a slice on his foot to add to the already lengthy inventory of injuries he had.

Rising to his feet, the raven haired boy took a few experimental steps. The knife moved a little, but he wouldn't have to fear it stabbing him or falling out of place.

Satisfied, Harry turned his bruised face towards the stairs. Money was next on his list.

Swiftly creeping up the flight of steps, he expertly avoided every squeak, the knowledge garnered from years of stepping silently around the Dursleys. Passing doors, beryl green eyes instinctively fixed on the plain white wood of his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom. He moved silently along the shadows, reaching the entrance in a few, short strides. Harry was light on his feet, lean build aiding in his sleek gait as he crept unheard into the forbidden room. Jade eyes glowed in triumph at the undisturbed forms of his Aunt and Uncle, sleeping peacefully unaware in their bed.

This was going to be far too easy.

Turning to their dresser, Harry slunk towards the mahogany furniture, ignoring the wallet that sat in the middle of a clear spot on its surface. He was going for far bigger money than just pocket change. Carefully easing open the top drawer, his gaze was met with an assortment of patterned socks and undergarments.

'_That is _not_ a lacy black thong._'

Face contorting into a mask of silent mortification, Harry soundlessly gagged at the discovery. As much as he wished to turn and chat with the contents of his stomach, blowing his cover was not an option. Death was only a mild penalty for being caught. Hesitantly lifting his hand to search through the clothing, he took a deep breath and reluctantly dove into the mass of socks and underwear.

Harry had learned of a particularly juicy tidbit of information while cleaning the living room one day – perhaps about a month ago – and it was the only reason he was risking infection by touching the expanse of personal items stored in the dresser. While he _had_ known that his Uncle was making side deals with some other drill company, he hadn't been privy to the form of payment Vernon was receiving for his services. A little bit of eavesdropping had cured that problem.

It was on one of the days Vernon had been entertaining some high ranking drill person or another. He had been tall and dressed in a slate-colored suit, trimmed to perfection and infinitely immaculate. Harry would have been inclined to call the man attractive. His demeanor commanded attention and his business dealings were full of ruthless purpose. The man had been able to charm and coerce his Uncle with false promises and insincere smiles without once betraying the smug smirk dancing in his eyes. Vernon hadn't even noticed the rattle of what was clearly a poisonous snake toying with its prey. Harry had admired the man in the first few minutes of meeting him. He was evidently a very successful person, and one had to admire the skill and control it required to dance someone around on a string while they believed it was their own idea to perform in the first place.

Harry had dutifully served refreshments and tidied the living room as his Uncle and the man chatted over business topics, listening with half an ear to the virtually one-sided conversation. The raven haired boy was sure that the man in the suit would have been able to talk Vernon into giving out his bank number, if the rate at which his Uncle was spewing forth information was any indication to go by.

Silently stepping forward to retrieve the empty plate of biscuits from the coffee table, Harry had left the living room for the kitchen, intent on refilling the platter. The conversation was becoming a bit tedious, his Uncle beginning to wander off onto random tangents. That man was definitely skilled; his face not once having wandered from the encouraging smile of feigned interest plastered on his visage.

Harry had been in the middle of organizing cookies onto the plate at the counter, when the turn of conversation had his ears pricking with interest. The deep timbre of the man's voice carried into the kitchen, and the words that came out had him pausing his actions in fascination.

"Quite interesting, I'm sure. Which reminds me, I have a little surprise for you, Vernon. Mr. Harper has been very impressed with your performances as of late, and has decided to give you quite the bonus on top of today's payment. He tells me that you'll go far in business and wishes for me to relay his gratitude for your continued dedication towards his company. I take it bills are not a problem?"

"N-No, of course not! Send my best regards to him! It's always a pleasure doing business with the man, and tell him, if he needs anything else, just call!"

Harry quickly plated the last of the cookies, interest perked to an unbearable point, and turned to re-enter the living room, tray in hand. He emerged to the scene of his Uncle lovingly thumbing a large wad of cash, so focused on the money in hand that the satisfied smirk directed towards him from the predatory expression of the man in the suit went completely amiss.

Harry had stepped forward and placed the platter on the table, eyes lowered as he moved to retake his position at the bookshelf across the room, where he had previously been organizing magazines.

"Thank you."

That deep timbre voice had him halting, glancing up through his eyelashes to gaze into the hazel eyes of the man in the suit. He had a calculating glint on his facing, sizing Harry up as one would an unknown object. His pose was relaxed and reclined, identical to the appearance of a basking snake.

'_He's testing me,'_

Harry definitely admired this man.

Raising his head just a tad more, a feral glint rose in his own emerald eyes, slow smirk curling the corner of his lips in an answer to the challenge. _I known what you're up to and I admire you for it._

"You're welcome."

He held eyes long enough with the man to catch the slow raising of an eyebrow and the curve of a smile, before he turned and wiped his face, proceeding with the organization of the magazines.

Harry remembered that day particularly well, if not because of the interesting encounter, then for the garnered information he had learned. The man had left shortly after paying his Uncle and Harry had followed them to the front door to hand the man his coat and hat while the two adults exchanged pleasantries. He recalled the man insisting that Uncle Vernon cash the money soon, to which Vernon replied in a joking tone that he kept all of his money in his sock drawer. The men had laughed as the businessman donned his coat and hat, wishing farewells to both Vernon _and_ Harry. They had caught eyes one final time, fake smile taking on an edge when he directed it towards the small boy, an answering smirk of respect between two predators. Harry hadn't seen him since.

As he pondered the gesture of the given information, Harry continued to dig through the dresser. He concluded that it was an exchange, his silence for the location of the cash, in case Harry as a kid was ever in need of money to go buy candy or something. His fingers brushed the edge of what felt like paper, and he triumphantly closed his fist around the money. That man was his _idol_.

Retrieving the thick wad of bills Vernon had foolishly hidden in his sock drawer, Harry carefully removed the money and silently slid the drawer closed. Fate seemed to be compensating for his shitty day by helping him with his escape plan. It was about time someone paid him some due respect.

Just as he was turning to reach the door, a heart-wrenching screech echoed from the floor beneath his feet.

'_For the love of-! I was just kidding!'_

Harry froze, blood draining from his face as he stared at the still forms of his Aunt and Uncle on the bed. Vernon's snoring stopped, making Harry cower and shrink towards the floor. His balls were literally on the line here! Waiting in silence, the emerald-eyed boy nearly sobbed in relief when the soft snoring started up again, confirming his misstep hadn't woken anyone. He gingerly crept the rest of the way out of the room, sighing in relief at the successful reconnaissance mission. He had the money. Life was good.

Grabbing the first aid kit as his last stop before he made his way downstairs, Harry silently halted by his bag and placed the kit inside, cash safely stored away in his pocket.

'_Mission accomplished. Bag packed and ready to leave,'_

Grumbling in protest, his stomach made its presence know for the first time that night. '_I guess not_.'

Harry retrieved one of the candy bars from his bag and quietly nibbled on the chocolaty cereal bar. Snagging his jacket from a hook on the wall, he carelessly shrugged it on and slipped on his sneakers retrieved from the kitchen. Harry was _actually_ going to leave.

He really didn't know what to say to that.

Harry picked his bag up and slung it over a shoulder, taking one last look at the house he would promise to never see again.

'_That wallpaper really is ugly_,' he mused, a slow smile spreading on his face.

Making one last stop to his cupboard, the bespectacled boy went through one of his drawers and grabbed a large, violent red marker. Stepping out, he examined the wall, dramatizing his actions as he pictured the perfect scene to draw. And then, inspiration hit. Uncapping his felt, the small words '_permanent_' flashed on the outside in bold, black letters, before Harry attacked the wall like a madman.

Stepping back, he admired his work with a smug smile on his face, eyes glinting in mirth. In bright red letters, the words 'FUCK YOU' took up a good portion of the wall, with the Dursleys in various states of torture surrounding the phrase. Harry had made sure they knew who was who. He'd labeled them. '_I always knew I had potential as an artist_.'

Throwing the plastic wrapper of the candy bar onto the ground, Harry turned and stepped out through the front door, humming a soft tune as he took off down the lamp lit street.

_TBC_


	2. Alleyways that Lead Astray

**Disclaimer:** I lay no claim to Harry Potter. Although I exclaim, Draco should lay with Harry. Ha, I'm such a loser. -.-

**Summary:** AUish. At the age of eleven, Harry Potter finally had enough. Frayed nerves and tentative holds snap, resulting in the seemingly utter disappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived from the muggle and wizarding worlds. At sixteen, he's back, and attending Hogwarts for reasons nobody knows. Bold!Harry HPDM

**Warnings:** Yo, this is slash, dude. That means Harry/Draco… stuff. Things are definitely going to get dark and angsty. And gory. And scary. And language foul…y. And if you don't like, please don't waste your time and read this, or mine by sending me flames.

**Author's Note:** Ah! I squeal with passion! Reviews! I almost hyperventilated when I saw them! You make me blush! I know there's only a few, but it made me so happy that people even bothered to comment. But, keep the reviews coming, and I'll try to pick up the pace. It took far too long to get this chapter out. Faaaar too long.

_HPDM_

**Chapter Two: Nectar of the Gods**

Harry shivered in the cold night air, breath evaporating into a curling puff of mist as he huffed through his mouth. His ribs were _throbbing_.

The evening was dark around him and noticeably chill; summer beginning to make the transition from pleasant nights into frozen autumn weather was becoming increasingly more apparent to the raven haired boy as he huddled deeper into his jacket. But, even with the low temperature and urban surroundings, he could still hear crickets chirping in a lilting pattern and the occasional frog adding a rhythmic percussion with a deep-throated croak from somewhere hidden among the houses and streets. It was nice. Made him try to forget about what he was doing and just enjoy his private, twilight serenade.

Harry looked to the sky as he walked, spying a glimpse of the stars every now and then. It seemed the clouds that had been hovering in the distance yesterday had decided to creep up and surprise him today. Although it was hardly today. The time was only about one thirty, according to the wristwatch that Harry had pilfered last year from Dudley's second bedroom. There was nothing wrong with it, except that the device was a _hand_ watch. Dudley had used it once, then tossed it into his room and never used it again. He examined some of the silver plating surrounding the face. It really was a nice watch.

Another street sign passed and Harry sighed in relief. He was getting closer to the bus stop now and soon he'd be able to stop and rest. The uncomfortable pressure from his bruised body was making it hard to breathe. It was an ache he could feel to his bones.

A strand of ebony hair fell into his eye and, playfully, Harry tried to blow it out of his face. It flew upwards and floated back down, obscuring more of his vision upon landing. He blew harder, and this time he managed to get it lodged somewhere above his glasses. Rolling his jade eyes up, Harry vied for a glimpse of his forehead to see where the elusive strand had gone, when his foot caught on the sidewalk and he stumbled dangerously. Arms pin-wheeling in the air, the raven haired boy staggered forward, barely preventing his face from an unwanted meeting with the concrete below.

'_Okay. No more fidgeting,'_ he demanded of himself, wincing as the stumbled jarred every bone in his body.

It was hard not to, though. Harry was more than a little nervous. The part of his life that a normal child would have spent socializing had completely shot by and ignored the bespectacled boy, leaving him with very little experience in the 'people' part of his life. Albeit, it wasn't for lack of trying on his part. School cliques had been a nightmare for Harry, and with the aid of Dudley, he had single handedly secured the 'outcast' position in school for most of his elementary life. He just didn't fit in.

But that was a fact he barely resented. Seeing things from the outside had given Harry a different view of what people liked to call 'normal', and he didn't exactly like what he saw. He hardly found it a worthy existence to conform to passing fads and the fickle opinions of others. It just wasn't something he lived for. Of course, he had tried, but so many endeavors-turned-fruitless had driven away his passion to fit in, especially when he knew it was a miracle that was never going to happen. Dudley had made sure of that.

But, as a result of very little human contact throughout major periods in his life, Harry was ashamed to admit that his people skills were quite low. He function through the base rules of human society and he knew how to be polite, but socialize like a normal person? Take the initiative in a conversation?

This was going to be hell.

Another street sign passed and this time Harry turned the corner to follow the sign. The glowing advertisements of the bus stop box drew him to them like a moth to a flame, and the battered boy slumped in relief when he reached the bench. Plopping his bag unceremoniously to the ground, Harry allowed himself a few moments of rest at the side of the deserted road. Which ultimately meant the inevitable contemplation of important things. Like his plan. His very pathetic plan.

His layout was short and sweet - Find Hogwarts. Aside from that, any other details he had no idea what to do about.

Where was he going to sleep? Didn't know.

What if he never found Hogwarts? Let's not even go there.

What would happen when his money ran out? … Oh god, he was going to die.

Harry was seriously starting to doubt his sanity with this plan. Running away at the age of a minor with no legal rights and a 99 chance of complete failure at finding any sort of sanctuary in the form of Hogwarts?

……

He liked his odds.

Harry had never felt better in his entire life, even with the mind-numbing pain and rising nausea. The word _Revenge_ flitted briefly through his mind. All that mattered was that he was _free_. And if magic didn't exist, who cared? It would make finding his parent's murderer all the more exciting. He was finally living for _himself_. Experiencing a freedom he had only ever dreamt about. A smile graced his features. And the revenge. Oh the revenge.

_He was free._

Of course, Harry would still make a bid to find out if Hogwarts _really_ existed or not. Just to be sure.

Which fundamentally meant he needed people to question. And the largest place of people-gathering he knew about was the London downtown area.

Harry lifted a hand to scratch an itch on the side of his nose. '_Well, London it is, then,_'

Now all he had to do was wait for the bus.

Harry glowered both ways down the road and sighed in utter annoyance at the deserted street. It was still far too early for anyone to be up. Raising his hands to tuck them behind his head, he settled back and closed his eyes. If he was going to wait, he'd do it comfortably.

Hours passed as the sun began to rise and life began to stir awake. Harry drifted through his consciousness, half an ear listening to the world outside as the sounds of cars driving by and birds chirping began to increase in frequency. Wounds and emotional exhaustion were beginning to catch up with him, and the raven haired boy had taken to singing random snippets of songs in his head in an attempt to keep himself partially awake. When he was stirred by the cough of a person, Harry realized how pathetic of an attempt it really was.

Slowly drifting back to the real world, Harry pressed his eyelids closed, feigning sleep as he gathered his senses. He wanted to know how many people he would be facing when he revealed his alertness. The fewer there were, the better.

Listening carefully, he tried to pick out the sounds of people from the noises around him. A foot shuffling to his right announced the presence of one person, and heavy breathing on his left affirmed another he was sharing company with. Harry waited patiently, straining to hear anymore signs of human activity, before settling on the determination that there was only two people. A few more minutes and he was satisfied his judgment was correct. Leisurely cracking open an eye, Harry avidly cursed his unreliable senses.

There was a third person to his far left, leaning against the edge of the box in a casually relaxed manner, watching the occasional car drive by on the street ahead. He looked to be in his late teens; shaggy brown hair and a black T-shirt displaying the logo of some famous band or another adorning his body. Harmless, as the pair of headphone wires dangling from his ears surmised. Harry slightly relaxed; he didn't think he'd have to fear a conversation from that one.

The other person on his left was a bushy haired lady, dressed in casual office clothes. Her red nose seemed to be the source of the heavy breathing Harry had been hearing, probably the result of a cold. She leaned forward slightly as her face scrunched up and let loose a small sneeze, pulling forth a tissue just in time. Poor woman was obviously sick, yet she was still determined to head to work. Another harmless one, the emerald eyed boy decided, as long as that cold kept her face in a tissue.

A glance to the right had Harry managing to catch the eyes of the man next to him darting away just as he looked. Business or office cubicle, either qualified for the fellow shifting nervously next to him. The khaki suit and briefcase definitely put him in that category. While far from normal behavior, Harry understood what had the man prancing like an upset pony. He had a great view of the multicolored bruise adorning the right side of his face and it was obviously making him wonder. He scrutinized the man a little longer. Hopefully it would scare him away and he wouldn't be tempted to ask questions.

As a thick atmosphere settled over the bus stop, Harry allowed himself a few moments to observe the weather through hooded eyes. The sky was a glowing azure back drop above, thick clouds gathering on its surface in a rolling preparation for rain. It was a dreary scene; the muted colors portraying the smothering blanket of sleep the world was sluggishly awakening from. It was still an ungodly hour; most street lamps lingering on and only a few cars of the occasional early bird driving by. Harry assumed the three people around him were only awake for work.

The heavy thrumming of a motor had him turning hopeful jade eyes towards the end of the street, head rising in delight at the unmistakable image of the bus as it rolled into view. It pulled up and stopped with a hiss of its brakes, engine rumbling as the doors squeaked open.

Stirred into life, the people around Harry moved, heading onto the bus in a shuffling line-up. He watched the procession, loitering behind to stretch tense muscles and run through a wavering pep-talk in his head. There was no going back to the Dursleys and pretending nothing had happened once he stepped on that bus. It would be the final decision. No going back. Harry ran his eyes over the advertisements decorating the sides of the vehicle, not really seeing the brightly colored words and garish pictures. There _was_ no going back. Stirring forward, he stepped onto the bus.

There were a few people aboard already, waiting to get moving again. Turning his gaze to the bus driver, Harry questioned the plump man in a soft tone, "Does this bus go to London?"

"Of course it does, lad. Take a seat," The pudgy driver offered with a smile, gesturing behind him with his thumb.

Harry gave a tentative grin back, paid his fare, and gingerly took a seat close to the front. He wanted an easy exit, incase something went wrong. The driver closed the doors and the bus surged forward once more, engine reverberating as it picked up speed. London was only a short ride away now.

Harry spent the drive gazing out the window, watching the cars and houses go by. Periodically, the bus stopped to pick up new passengers, turning the short drive into a two hour long commute. Whenever they stopped, though, the raven haired boy would keep his eyes glued to the glass in front of his face, feigning serious interest in the sidewalk below to divert anyone from attempting pleasantries or a conversation with him. Harry _really_ didn't like socializing.

When the scenery made the change from picket fences to sky scrapers, Harry knew that London had been reached and decided to get off at the next stop. He was starting to get twitchy.

Life was bustling outside his window, the world moving back into the swing of activity. The streets were a shifting mass of people, writhing back and forth in a sea of motion as bodies walked together side by side. Harry swallowed thickly. This was going to be so embarrassing. He was _actually_ planning to go up and question random people as to the whereabouts of a school of magic called Hogwarts. The bespectacled boy could already feel his face flaming.

Brakes hissed in a familiar routine as the bus slowly pulled up to the sidewalk, squeaking its doors open and patiently waiting for people to board and exit. Harry stood uneasily, slinging his pack over his shoulder and climbing out of his seat. He was the first person in the hallway, so he led the impatient march of people vying to get off the transport vehicle. The bus driver offered him a wide smile when he ambled by, hand resting on the lever that controlled the doors. Smiling back, Harry maneuvered onto the cracked pavement below and was immediately swept away into the crowd of people surging by.

The bodies swarming so near to him were an all new experience to Harry. People hurrying and chatting and talking on cellphones or merely walking by were _everywhere_. It was disconcerting. He didn't know why it made him so uneasy, but it did. A person brushed his arm as they walked by, nearly giving Harry a heart attack. He caught the tail-end of a mumbled apology as they sped away, breathing still panicked as he berated himself for such an irrational reaction. Another person bumped his bag. He couldn't handle this. He needed out.

Firmly gripping the strap of his pack as he walked, Harry spied what looked like a coffee shop and immediately made a beeline for the door. Things promised to be less crowded in there.

Dodging a man absorbed in conversation over his phone, Harry's hand finally alighted on the cool metal of the entrance and he pushed his way inside the shop. The glass door slid shut behind him as the tinkling of bells sounded from somewhere above the portal, signaling the arrival of another customer. Cocooned safely inside the store, Harry let some of the tension fall away from his shoulders, taking his nerves with it. They were still there, of course – probably would be there for the next few hours or days or however long it was going to take for them to go away. He stepped forward into the shop, emerald eyes roaming over the décor and people. The very _few_ people.

'_Thank god. Finally something going my way,'_

Harry padded towards an isolated table in the back, keeping his eyes forward as he ambled by the odd person, focused on trying to be as invisible as possible. He swiftly settled into the cushioned chair and in the aftermath of one more step hesitantly taken down his current path, Harry realized he was now at a complete loss on what to do with himself. This was going to be so much harder than he thought.

Slumping forward, he ran a tired hand across his eyes, content to just lose himself in the smell of coffee and the soft music playing in the background for the moment.

Absorbed in bemoaning his fate, Harry almost missed the sounds of a chair scraping across the floor and the unmistakable clink of ceramic being set down on the table. Removing his hand from his eyes, he hesitantly gazed up into the warm countenance of a smiling blond sliding towards him a large, indigo mug filled with a steaming, caramel-colored liquid.

"You look like shit," the intruder stated bluntly, peach lips curving into a teasing smile.

Harry blinked in bewilderment, straightening from his slouched position and folding his hands into his lap. Okay, he hadn't seen this coming. His plan had been to wallow in self-pity for a few moments, gather himself back together and begin his quest for Hogwarts. Conversation with random people wasn't exactly on that list. And now he was apparently supposed to _make_ conversation.

The fates were just fucking with him today.

The teen was just sitting there, watching him, head casually resting on his hand with that small smile still on his face. Harry shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny, glancing at the steaming mug placed in front of him before raising his eyes back to the soft face of his new table companion.

Smile broadening, the teen answered some unasked question, extending a single finger to slide the navy blue cup closer to Harry. "Chai tea latte. It's on the house. Like I said, you look like shit. Seems to me like you need a good pick-me-up."

Harry tentatively placed a hand around the warm cup, gazing uncertainly at the odd person sitting casually in front of him like this was an everyday occurrence for him. The guy seemed nice and all, but he was still a little baffled over this new development. He hadn't even shown the slightest inclination towards wanting company, yet this teen was fixed in front of him, waiting patiently for Harry to take up the tail end of his conversation. Understandably, he was hesitant to let his guard down and pick up the drink.

The confused boy's gesture made the guy smile wider, if anything, and he continued on, amusement lacing his words as he spoke, "It won't bite. Go on, drink it. I promise you I didn't poison it or anything. Scouts honor," He raised a solemn hand in the gesture of someone pledging honesty, head cocked to the side as he leaned on the table.

Harry gazed timidly at his antics, before deciding to drink the tea if it would help him get rid of this leech faster. He wrapped both hands around the mug and slowly brought it to his lips, sipping delicately at the hot drink. His eyelids fell to half-closed at the glorious taste the liquid had; he definitely hadn't expected such a wonderful flavour when he'd decided to drink it. This tea was magnificent – It was like drinking expensive velvet made of a luxurious blend of spices and laced with a smooth vanilla crème all served in a ceramic cup. It was spectacular. Pure liquid afterglow in a mug.

Humming in appreciation as his body buzzed with pleasure, Harry gently brought the cup away from his lips, licking up a stray drop trailing down the edge of the mug. He gazed at the teen in contemplation, before asking softly, "Chai tea latte, did you say?"

"Best damn tea in the world, if you ask me," He stated with a satisfied smile, eyes scrunching closed at the gesture.

Harry gave a mute nod of agreement, bringing the cup to his lips once more. He would definitely remember the name of this tea.

Obviously pleased with his success, the honey-blond haired boy leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head as he watched Harry sip at the tea, content to give him a few moments of peace, before launching his next jab at conversation. "I'm Ambrose. I've no idea what my parents were thinking when they named me, my friends gave me the oh-so-manly nickname Rose, and I've forever been cursed with the appearance of femmy man, so I'd like you to call me Jeff. If only to make an old man die happy."

Harry found himself smiling into his cup, amused at the honest attempt to draw him into conversation. Well, self-humiliation was one way to strike interest. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all. He set it back down onto the table, a small smile displayed on his face. "Sure… Jeff."

Ambrose looked like someone had tossed him a giant cookie. He gave Harry a beaming grin, ecstatic that he'd managed to get a reaction from the withdrawn brunet in front of him.

"But…," the blond's smile morphed into a look of confusion at the assessing stare Harry had directed at him, watching as the stare turned into a teasing smirk, "I think I like Rose better."

Harry brought his mug to his lips as Ambrose laughed good naturedly at his small jab, lips curving around the rim. This conversation thing wasn't so bad. Apparently he was getting the hang of it.

Settling back into his seat and exageartedly wiping at his eyes, Ambrose gave a happy sigh and voiced another request for the black haired boy. "So, if you're going to call me Rose, what am I supposed to call you?"

His name almost slipped past his lips before Harry caught himself and hurriedly sipped at his tea, unsure if telling his name would be a great idea. Ambrose was obviously harmless, but… he didn't think it would be a great idea to leave a name trail behind him incase the Dursleys decided to seek retribution for their ruined wallpaper. As much as he wanted to… it just wasn't safe yet. So he settled on the next best thing.

"I'm… James."

"James, huh? Well, it's nice to meet you," Ambrose greeted, extending a tanned hand across the table top.

Placing his half-empty cup down, Harry shook the offered limb, giving a small smile of thanks in return. "Likewise."

"So… Do you come here often?"

Harry understood the lame attempt at diverting the conversation onto a safe topic, but decided to humor the teen and go along with it. The inevitable question could wait until later. "Not really. But I might make it my new favorite shop. It's quiet. I like that."

'_The fact that I've never had a favorite shop be damned._'

Ambrose gave a small shrug and a smile, before commenting, "Right now it is. But it can get a little busy in the afternoon rush when all the business moles rise of their cubicles for lunch and tea. Other than that, it's usually a slow moving store."

Harry nodded in understanding, picking up his mug once more. This stuff was just too good to put down.

They continued to talk back and forth, discussing numerous inane subjects while Harry attempted to keep up with the energetic, blond-haired teen. When their conversation turned towards movies and music, he feigned understanding as Ambrose babbled on about some band he liked or a movie which Harry hadn't ever seen before in his life. But apparently his nods and one-worded comments were enough for the blond, and he managed to get through without any snags. Self-satisfied, Harry thought he had successfully managed to pull off the 'normal' kid look. As their chatting dwindled down to short remarks and contented sighs, Ambrose finally announced that he should probably get back to work.

"Dreadfully sorry, mate, but the rush should be here soon. You know, feeding time at the zoo and all," He voiced with a sheepish smile, pushing back his chair and retrieving Harry's long-empty mug from the table.

Harry noticed the black apron tied around his waist. So he was an employee for the small café after all.

Taking a quick peek at his watch, the emerald eyed boy was surprised to see the hour hand creeping its way past noon. '_So late already?_'

"Of course, I've kept you too long already. As much as I hate to share, a jewel such as thyself should be displayed for the world, instead of sheltered in such selfish arms," Harry dramatized, tossing an exaggerated gesture at the snickering teen.

Ambrose placed a delicate hand on his chest, fluttering his eyelashes in a girlish manner, "Dear sir, you flatter me so. Though you are wrong, for it is I who hath committed such a heinous act by taking thy company for myself. Promise me, though, you will rescue me from the fiery pits of hell I will most surely be cast unto for my sin!"

Harry couldn't control himself at that. He laughed out loud at the blond's antics, who was prancing around like a lady in heels, all the while simpering and uttering the odd 'hath' or 'thou' in a dramatized female voice.

"St-stop! Stop! Y-you'll be the death of me at this rate!" Harry wheezed between his laughter, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. His ribs couldn't take much more.

Ambrose chuckled at the bespectacled boy, pleased that he'd accomplished his good deed for the day. His goal had been to get the gloomy kid to loosen up and in the end he'd gained a new friend in the process. He'd definitely done a good job. "Thou wouldst accompany me to the halls of Hades? Why, I've been unfairly blessed with such a heroic gentleman! Lord, striketh me down now!"

Harry wrapped his arms around his shaking body, laughing so hard it hurt. This guy was auditioning to be the new Shakespeare at the rate he was going. He'd never heard anyone handle their 'thous' with such expertise. Struggling to get his laughter under control, Harry let his chuckles die down before speaking again, smiling genuinely at the smug teen leaning on the table before him. "That was brilliant. Have you ever considered pursuing an acting career?"

"Not once," Ambrose replied with a smirk.

"You should. You've got quite the niche there. But as you were saying, the circus should be in town soon. I wouldn't want to keep them waiting. Lions might get hungry," Harry jibed, reminding the blonde of his current job.

"Ah yes, it'll surely be a massacre. So, are you… planning to stick around?"

Harry pursed his lips in an apologetic smile, "Afraid not, my friend. I have a previous engagement that needs tending to. But maybe tomorrow…?" He left the question hanging, waiting for a reply.

"I work Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. Stop by anytime you want." Ambrose supplied with a lopsided grin.

Standing with his pack over his shoulder, Harry made his way towards the exit, calling back in sport, "If you're not in hell, I'll be sure to look you up."

Laughing, Ambrose sauntered back behind the counter, settling Harry's cup into the sink.

"Ambrose?"

The blond turned with a curious look towards the suddenly demure kid, shuffling awkwardly in front of the door. "Hm?"

"Thanks… For not asking about it." Harry finished, his voice laced with warmth.

Smiling softly as the raven-haired boy pushed his way out the door, Ambrose called back with an equal amount of affection, "No problem, James."

The jingle of bells was lost to his ears among the noises of the city as Harry left the small coffee shop, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had a friend. And it was a wonderful feeling.

Adjusting the strap on his shoulder, Harry walked down the street, twisting through the crowds of people as he went to pass time. He was glad Ambrose hadn't asked. It must have been grating for him, but it made Harry happy that he could ignore such an obvious mark and instead focus on the person beneath it. Trying to explain the bruise would have made things far too complicated. So he was glad he hadn't asked.

So glad.

Time had seemingly grown wings and flown while they had been chatting. The blond boy had an entrancing personality – he'd managed to dissipate any awkwardness Harry'd been feeling and drawn forth his playful side while he was at it. He had an aura that just screamed 'trust me'. It was nice being able to feel comfortable around someone without fearing any sort of deception or hurt.

Although Harry definitely needed to get a move on if he was going to accomplish anything today. He frowned at his watch, wondering where the damn thing had put all his time. Sighing, the ebony haired boy turned to face the crowds of people mulling by. It didn't matter. He had all the time in the world and a burning motivation. If he didn't find Hogwarts today, he would find it tomorrow. Patience had always been one of his virtues.

Eyes roaming, Harry picked a suitable candidate out and settled in for a long day.

_HPDM_

Puffing, Harry leaned into the grimy wall of the alley, huddling in on himself as he struggled for air.

'_Great. Bloody great_.'

The past hours had been nothing short of a traveling circus. Absolutely loony. He'd received every possible reaction to his question, from every sort of person. But it was always the same answer.

No.

Harry had asked and asked and asked, but no one had any idea of what Hogwarts even _was_. He'd even received one sarcastic comment from some punk teen with his little group of friends who laughed like a bunch of hyenas after the wisecrack.

"Hogwarts? Try a pig." Ha. Hilarious.

And then there was that one woman who was determined to take him home like he was a stray kitten or something.

And that other man had been just plain rude - snuffed him off without a word and just a mean look. Very rude.

But the latest encounter took the cake. Bloody man had grabbed his arm and started shaking him and berating Harry for his 'hoodlum' acts. Said he was going to call the police to take him home and a bunch of other threatening nonsense. So, since the man didn't seem likely to let go anytime soon and his ribs were screaming under the constant jarring motion, Harry did the only thing he could do.

Delivered a punishing kick to the man's leg and took off running.

He had contemplated pulling the, 'Rape, rape!' act, but more attention was too much attention. At worst, the man would be left with a bruise and might phone the police. He could deal with that. As much as he didn't want any heat, if they never found him he wouldn't have to worry.

Which brought him to his current position. Out of breath and hiding in an alley. And bloody hell, it was beginning to rain.

Harry was running out of options. He had no place to stay, the night was progressing, and the people were emptying the streets like startled deer under the shower of water. Not to mention he was functioning on over 24 hours without sleep and it was starting to show. He felt like collapsing.

Too many problems and not enough with solutions.

'_Bloody fucking great._'

Harry sighed as the pain in his ribs ebbed to a reasonable level and blinked furiously to keep his eyes open. They felt like small weights had been attached to them and it was making it difficult to maintain his awareness.

He needed to find shelter. Standing in the rain wasn't getting him anywhere.

Heaving himself off of the wall, Harry started back onto the empty street, when the heavy sound of feet splashing through puddles and the dull thud of a body colliding with something hard drew his attention away. Peering into the thick darkness at the end of the alley where it intersected with another, forming a sort of T shape, he squinted at the night, discerning the shapes of two bodies facing off against each other.

It wasn't his business. He needed to get inside. Maybe he could rent a hotel room? The money stolen from Vernon was more than enough to pay for at least one night.

Yelps and grunts of pain had Harry stopping and turning his head once more. The two shapes were tearing away at each other, a mad flurry of motion. He worried his lip indecisively. It wouldn't hurt if he got close enough to check on them, right? He could make sure no one was seriously injured and then leave to find his shelter. It would only take a few minutes out of his time.

Stepping forward, Harry padded towards the end of the alley, convincing himself it was the right thing to do. He wouldn't be responsible for leaving someone mortally wounded out in the rain.

The sounds of the scuffle and grunts of pain became much more audible the closer he got, unconsciously compelling him to cling to the shadows. Crouching behind a large dumpster, Harry watched as the two people wrestled over an object between them, eventually sending it skidding through puddles with a metallic clang to stop a few feet in front of Harry's dumpster. One of them made a mad scramble for the thing, before he was hauled back roughly and struck by the other.

Harry watched in morbid fascination as the two fought, delivering blows that looked much too orderly to be a random drunk fighting with another. An audible crack had him wincing, watching as the man in the pale trench coat crumpled to the ground. The other one made another dash for the object, falling to his knees as he splashed through a muddy puddle. Fumbling hands folded around the object, lifting it from the ground in a fluid motion to point unflinchingly at the other man who had been approaching from behind.

Harry blinked. He hadn't even noticed the other get up.

The moon was shadowed behind the heavy rain clouds and light was limited in the narrow alley, but even with the hindrance of rain, the glistening form of the pistol held between the gloved fingers of the man crouched only a few feet in front of Harry was as visible as a beacon of light. He froze. Suddenly being in this alley seemed like the worst of places to be.

Watching as the two men faced off once again, Harry's mind whirred in a frantic flurry of thoughts. He needed to make a decision, one that would cost someone their life. Damn him and his Good Samaritan acts.

The cocking of the gun made the choice for him. Emerald eyes darkened as he watched the man in the beige coat straighten, head raised pridefully in what he believed were his last moments. Harry would remember this moment. It would be impossible to forget.

Slipping his fingers underneath the cuff of his pants, he removed the small kitchen knife from its place against his ankle. The clichéd feelings of time slowing and speeding until he no longer knew what day it was never graced Harry with their presence, but instead he was struck with a detailed rendition of every moment playing out in front of him as it was burned into his memory. Everything seemed too real.

Knife gripped securely in his palm, Harry launched out from behind the dumpster, sliding into the hunched form of the man holding the gun. The startled gasp was loud in his ears, the feel of clothing and flesh giving way under his blade chilling in its blinding reality. He was awed at how easy this was. Too easy.

The dark haired man lurched forward in surprise with the feel of another body colliding with his own, weapon falling from his grip. Then the feel of a blade finding home in his back tore a gasp from his lips and widened his eyes with shock as his torso continued towards the ground.

Objective accomplished, Harry leaped back, knife in one hand and gun securely in the other. He wouldn't give the wounded man an opportunity to turn and shoot him, bleeding or not.

The other man in the pale trench took advantage of the opening, however unexpected it was, and dashed forward to grip the dark haired man's head in his hands. A jerk, a snap, and the body slumped to the ground, unmoving in a puddle of grimy water.

Rain cascaded from the angry clouds above, pouring down in a thick sheet of crystalline liquid. The rhythmic patter of raindrops was disturbingly peaceful against the concrete, uninterrupted in its steady downpour. Harry licked his lips. He was already soaked through and the items in his backpack weren't faring much better. He shifted. His clothing was also clinging in the most unpleasant of manners.

The man with the coat stared unerringly at the small boy huddled against the wall, seemingly oblivious to the rain around him. His amber eyes strayed to the black gun held limply in his hand, and then to the kitchen knife in the other. The appearance of such an anomaly understandably surprised him.

Harry stared straight back at the statuesque man, slightly out of breath and hurting all over. He had truly reached his tolerance threshold. The shift of the eyes from his face to his hands didn't go unnoticed by the raven haired boy, and he steeled himself before deciding to put a little bit of trust in a stranger.

"Here," He intoned, tossing the gun at the man.

Harry waited with baited breath as the apathetic person caught the weapon in a fluid movement, eyes not leaving him even as he raised the gun. The other hand rose with it, and Harry let a little bit of relieved air leave him as it moved to unscrew the silencer at the end. He wouldn't have to worry about being shot, then.

Gun and silencer disappearing into his jacket, the smooth baritone of the man's voice nearly had Harry jumping in surprise. "Thanks."

Waiting for more, Harry blinked as the living statue turned instead and made to leave.

'_What? That's it?_'

"H-hey, wait!"

The man froze.

Harry's eye twitched. What the hell had possessed him to say that?

'_God, I feel like a needy girl wanting closure in a relationship._'

Indeed, Harry felt that saving someone's life deserved more than just a 'thanks'. He had just freaking _stabbed_ a guy! The least he expected was maybe some explanation as to _why_ he had just risked his life.

"I-I…"

He glanced helplessly at the body currently lying face down in a puddle of water and shuffled a few steps away. God, had he just helped do that?

And then brilliance struck him at the _worst_ possible of moments.

"I need a place to stay..."

Harry wanted to smack himself.

The man turned slightly to raise one perfect eyebrow, cream coat fluttering limply with the movement.

He fiddled with the end of his jacket, suddenly very aware of himself. Bruised, wet, and scrawny. That guy could probably do the same thing he did to the other man just as easily on Harry. So why was he tempting the fates so blatantly?

'_Probably to see whether they actually have the guts to off me after putting me through so much shit already,_'

Gathering his nerves, Harry plowed forward, "I need somewhere to stay for the night, and since I just saved your life, the least you could do is offer me a place out of the rain."

He watched the man, waiting for some sort of reaction to his comment. Oh god, had he been too forward? Nervously, he darted his eyes to the man's hands, scanning for any sign of movement. He wouldn't kill a defenseless child, would he? The rain continued to fall, unheeded. And then a miracle happened.

Smirk curling the corners of his mouth, the stranger responded. "Cocky brat."

Harry deadpanned. He stared at the retreating form of the man, watching the ivory coat sway, absolutely confused.

'_Was that a no?_'

The amused tone of the man's voice caught him off guard, faint as it was through the patter of the rain. "Well, are you coming?"

Harry jolted into action, hurrying to catch up with his new companion. He kept a few paces behind the man, following the tall form obediently. As surprised as he was to have just scored a night of free room-and-board, he wasn't about to jeopardize anything. Best to keep his comments to himself.

The quiet man led him through the empty streets of London, the rain having chased away any potential late night street walkers. Harry noticed they took quite a few turns through alleys and doubled back more than once, but he withheld any need for questioning. He had a feeling he would find out sooner or later.

Finally, the man led him into the cozy interior of an ordinary apartment building. Harry followed him into the elevator, silently watching as he reached out to press a button on the metal panel. The doors closed, and one stomach-sinking sensation later, they re-opened to a long hallway of wooden portals. Approaching one with the golden numbers '14' emblazoned on the front, the man removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the standard white door.

Slowly following his host into the apartment, Harry's eyes darted around the suite, examining the sparsely decorated home. The furniture was minimalistic and any adornments that would've made the room feel 'lived in' were conspicuously missing. Of course, there were a few random articles like empty glasses and a book placed on the coffee table that did signify a being frequented the apartment regularly, but definitely no homey pictures or any personal items of the sort that characterized a room. It felt… well, empty.

Harry stood by the door, waiting as the man strode down a hall to the right without a word.

Well… This was awkward.

He shuffled in discomfort, hyper-aware of himself in his surroundings. This was the single-most strangest thing he had ever done. He was _actually_ waiting to be welcomed into the home of a man who he had just witnessed snap the neck of _another_ man like it was a paper twig. Harry spared a thought of sympathy for Alice after she had fallen down the rabbit hole. Now he knew what it felt like.

Footsteps announced the return of the man minus the long, pale trench coat he had been wearing, revealing a casual pair of denim jeans and an unbuttoned dress shirt beneath. He was currently working a white towel through his hair in an attempt to dry the chocolate locks, steadily dripping water from having to walk through the downpour of rain.

He raised an eyebrow at Harry who was still standing in front of the door, nervously clutching the strap of his pack. Tossing another towel at the boy, he smirked as Harry fumbled to catch it, finally breaking the silence that had hung over them since the alley. "You're dripping on my floor."

Harry ducked his head, yet mumbled out an apology as he raised the towel to dry out his own hair. "Sorry,"

That provoked another raised eyebrow from the amber eyed man. What had happened to the cocky words from before?

He frowned slightly, scrutinizing the black haired boy as he removed his soaked jacket in an almost tenderly fashion. "Where're your parents, kid?"

Harry froze with one arm still caught in the sleeve. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"That… is none of your business."

The man snorted. Cocky brat. "Sure, whatever."

He padded into the living room area of the flat, one hand still rubbing the towel against his head. Glancing back at the scrawny stray he'd picked up, he watched as the kid toed off his shoes and tugged the rest of his jacket off. The slight wince at the movement didn't go unnoticed. Draping the towel around his neck, he flopped onto the couch. "Are you hurt?"

Harry shrugged a thin shoulder, slipping his hands into his pockets as the man's honey colored eyes raked over his form. "S'nothin' I can't handle," He replied demurely. Although he wouldn't mind some lion tranquilizers for the pain at this point.

His host looked like he seriously doubted that, but let the comment slide with only a small frown. It deepened when the kid lingered at the door, standing there like he hadn't been invited into his home. Jerking his chin at the armchair across from him, he intoned gruffly, "Sit,"

Harry started at the command, before treading slowly over to the appointed seat. He sat carefully onto the luxuriously soft chair, back stiff as his fingers flexed, itching for something to fiddle with. The poignant stare he could feel surveying his face wasn't making him anymore comfortable, either.

The man fought the urge to snort and roll his eyes at the kid's antics. It wasn't like he was going to bite – he'd have done it already if he had any inclination to do so. Paranoid brat. Leaning into his couch and draping an arm over the back, he voiced another question, taking up the duty since his squatter seemed unlikely to strike up conversation with him anytime soon. "What's your name?"

Harry bit his lip, disturbed at the strange turn of events his life had taken. This was just too fucked up even for him, the _king_ of weird. Then again, he guessed it was only fitting for his life to be just as screwed up as he was. Who was he to fight the natural flow of the universe?

Releasing the soft flesh from between his teeth, he darted his gaze to the slouched man in front of him, then flitted away at the sight of the piercing, amber-eyed stare trying to bore holes into his face. "James," he offered reluctantly, settling on the use of the fake name he had adopted earlier with Ambrose. This man didn't need to know his real name – not that it really mattered. He'd be gone by tomorrow, off on his hunt for the seemingly non-existent Hogwarts. Joy.

His host seemed to accept this easily enough, though Harry ignored the small snort of skepticism he gave. Obviously the man didn't care about his real name either; probably having similar thoughts about his guest leaving tomorrow.

The blatant snort he gave at the kid's attempt to pull one over on him was just enough to let the brat know that_ he_ knew the brunet was bullshitting him. But it didn't really matter, so he went along with his interloper's small lie and decided to humor him. Really, the kid was at least a little smart for knowing his real name could get him into trouble if he gave it to the wrong people. A little. "Well… James, you can call me Romulus."

The raised eyebrow he got in return informed him that _James _also seriously doubted the validity of the offered title, but his only response was to toss a faint smirk at the doubtful action. Let him chew on that. The brat's eyes once more turned away to examine his apartment, and an awkward silence threatened to fall around them from the air above. Running a hand through his slightly damp hair, Romulus sighed and moved to stand. It was late and he was hungry. He thought it was prudent to at least offer his guest some food. "Are you hungry?"

Harry dragged his eyes away from the simple cover of the book that had been on the coffee table between them to once more look into the odd colored eyes of his host. Hungry? Yes, he was hungry. More like starving. And sore all over. And very, very tired. "A little," he said simply.

"Alright then." And then the man was gone towards the kitchen.

Harry softly released a small breath of air and leaned back into the armchair. Aware that his jeans were still soaked through, he tried to keep them from dripping too much on the furniture and ran a hand over the wet fabric. Well, today had been a complete disaster. He hadn't found _anyone_ with knowledge of this Hogwarts school, and now he was starting to believe it _wasn't_ real. What the hell would he do if it turned out that all of his supposed information was just stupid coincidence and his Uncle really had been so drunk it had just resulted in him gibbering nonsense? What the hell _then_?

Harry groaned quietly and tilted his head to rest against the soft back of the chair. He _couldn't_ go back to the Dursleys. After what he'd done? An involuntary shiver ran up the raven haired boy's spine, leaving him feeling weak and sick at himself for how much he really feared the man who was supposed to be his uncle. He just couldn't go back. Trying to imagine what would happen if he did only led to the ghost fingers of phantom pain licking across long healed wounds; dead memories of old scars woken at the call of new fear burrowing into his skin.

Harry shook his head. He would not go back. It wasn't an option. Hogwarts was the only thing close to a sanctuary he had at this point, and he would take his speculation and run with it until he could justifiably say it didn't exist. He _had_ to keep looking.

His host – Romulus – came strolling back at that moment with two plates in hand, sizable sandwiches on each one. He handed a plate to Harry, then retook his seat and settled back to eat. Harry murmured a thanks and sat forward, licking his lips before tucking into the lovely ham sandwich Romulus had made, dismissing his doubts.

It was silent as both chewed on their food, each absorbed in their own thoughts. The patter of rain in the background provided ambient music, keeping the awkward silence at bay while each contemplated their current situation.

Harry began to slow down halfway through his sandwich, taking his time chewing each bite. His shrunken stomach was beginning to tell him he was full, but he was determined to eat as much as he could before he put the sandwich down. A thought struck him as he took another bite of his food, and he finished chewing before he asked his question. Drawing the sandwich away from his face, Harry glanced up at Romulus to see if he had his attention. Amber eyes greeting his told him that it had never really left.

"Um, Romulus, you… you wouldn't happen to know anything about a place called Hogwarts, would you?" He stumbled over the words, not entirely certain he should be asking weird questions in case his host had a reaction he wasn't prepared to deal with.

Romulus paused with his sandwich raised halfway to his mouth, shocked into silence at the scrawny kid's words. How the hell did he…? "What?"

Harry, having watched the slow rise of Romulus' eyebrows, winced slightly and muttered, "Nevermind. Forget I asked,"

A drip of water fell onto the sandwich hovering below his face, causing Harry to frown slightly before replacing it onto the plate he had set on the table before him. Tugging free the towel he'd draped across his shoulders earlier, he rubbed it through his hair, gathering the locks away from his forehead to dry them properly. Apparently he hadn't done a well enough job the first time. The shattering of a plate had him dropping the towel in fright, wide eyes shooting up towards to source of the noise.

Romulus stared back at him, face slack and sandwich scattered on the floor with the broken remains of the plate he had been holding. Harry was becoming increasingly worried as the man continued to stare at him wide-eyed, before the whispered words that reached his ears confirmed that he _should_ be worried.

"…What did you say your name was?"

Harry darted his eyes to the door. Oh god. He wouldn't be able to get there in time if the larger man decided to lunge at him from across the table. He sunk further back into the chair, praying this wouldn't end badly. "James," he replied, just as quietly as Romulus' hushed inquiry.

"The truth."

Harry flinched and bit his lip. Something was wrong if the amber eyed man was demanding to know his real name. Had he said something bad? Stalling, he asked his own question. "Why?"

"Tell me the _truth_."

The statement was growled lowly at him, and Harry leaned back further into the armchair as Romulus leaned forward, amber eyes nearly glowing in the light. He couldn't fight his way out of this situation – he'd witnessed first hand what that man could do to him if Harry gave him the inclination. So he figured he'd cooperate until he got his opening to bolt. "Harry," he mumbled quietly, tensing as he prepared for the reaction to his admission.

"Harry _what_?"

They were back to breathy whispers, so Harry supposed he'd answered correctly. But now the man wanted his _last_ name. He was so confused. This couldn't be heading in a good direction. Knowing he couldn't do anything else but cooperate, the emerald eyed boy answered in a small voice.

"Harry Potter."


End file.
